


i'm a sucker for you

by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Awkward Flirting, Baked Goods, Cookies as a declaration of intent, Getting Together, Multi, Office AU, Wooing, puns as a form of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:24:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9845528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion/pseuds/Thealmostrhetoricalquestion
Summary: Jace is the guy that comes in to work early every day, the one who gets all of his work done on time, never misses a deadline and baked cookies for Catarina’s birthday. Simon is the guy who turns up the work late with ink on his tie and a briefcase full of chocolate bars, the one who uses all the printer ink and then hides in the break room until someone else deals with the problem. He didn’t evenrememberCatarina’s birthday, let alone bring in homemade treats to celebrate the occasion.Fuck Jace for being so perfect, honestly. Fuck him and his perfect, delicious cookies.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get this up in time for Jimon Week or Valentine's Day, because I am an awful, unmotivated person, but I loved the influx of fics and art and I had to add something of my own, even if it is late! Hope you like it!

Jace is the guy that comes in to work early every day, the one who gets all of his work done on time, never misses a deadline and baked cookies for Catarina’s birthday. Simon is the guy who turns up the work late with ink on his tie and a briefcase full of chocolate bars, the one who uses all the printer ink and then hides in the break room until someone else deals with the problem. He didn’t even _remember_ Catarina’s birthday, let alone bring in homemade treats to celebrate the occasion.

Fuck Jace for being so perfect, honestly. Fuck him and his perfect, delicious cookies. 

*

There’s a batch of beautiful-looking cupcakes sitting on the table in the break room when Simon stumbles into work twenty minutes late. The number of cupcakes slowly dwindles during the day, and by the time 3 o’clock rolls round, Simon gives in to temptation. He’s stuffing the last cupcake into his mouth with little finesse when Jace ambles into the break room, wearing a tight white shirt that’s rolled up to the elbows. There’s a second of silence, wherein Simon prays for death and Jace looks at him a little warily, no doubt eyeing the pink icing smothered all over his face, and then he sidles past Simon without a word and makes a beeline for the coffee machine.

“I can explain,” Simon says, once he’s swallowed the rest of the cake, savouring every last crumb. It’s the perfect ratio of buttercream to cake, and it tastes like heaven. Jace glances up, fingers flying over the buttons on the coffee machine with practiced ease, and shrugs.

“No need,” Jace says. “They were for everyone.”

It takes a moment for that to sink in, and Simon can feel his face grow red. “You made those?”

“Were they any good?”

“Delicious.”

Jace smirks. “Then yeah, I made them. Did you eat _all_ of them?”

Simon gives him an affronted look. “No. There was only one left, and I figured since nobody else was in here, I might as well have it. Do you really think I’m that greedy?”

Jace shrugs again. “I don’t know that much about you.”

Simon tries not to let that sting, because the thing is, Jace is right. They really don’t know that much about each other, despite having worked together in the same office building for almost a year now. Jace had that brief thing with Clary when she first started working there, but even before that fell apart they hadn’t spent any time with each other. The most Simon got was a nod in the corridor or a condescending look whenever he broke something or knocked over his pencil pot, and it’s infuriating, because Simon spends most of his work-day peering at Jace over the top of his cubicle, or sneaking looks at him while he’s laughing in the break room.

“A crying shame, I can assure you,” Simon says, gesturing at himself. “Really, you’re missing out on a really big bundle of anxiety and existential fear by not getting all up in this.” He’s not entirely sure where the words are coming from, but to his horror, they don’t seem to be stopping.

Jace gets this little twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s thinking of laughing. Then he switches off the coffee machine and steps around Simon, moving swiftly towards the door whilst Simon curses his inability to stay silent. He’s about to face-palm when Jace pauses in the doorway, and Simon thinks, for one elated second, that maybe his rambling might have won Jace over.

“You have icing on your nose, by the way.”

Then he leaves, and Simon stares sadly at the empty cake platter, regretting his last, hurried bite; now he can’t even eat his feelings.

*

Coffee is a gift from the Gods, Simon decides, as he clutches his paper cup close to his chest. He’s fifteen minutes late to work because the queue was a mile long, but it’s the closest store to the building and like hell Simon is going to skip good, fresh coffee just for the sake of being on time.

Alec, who works in the cubicle in front of Simon, shoots him a glare as he slips through the door with a squeak of non-regulation shoes against linoleum. The door slides shut a little too hard behind Simon, bashing into his shoulder and spilling coffee all down his front. Simon yelps loudly as the liquid seeps in through his white shirt and scrambles to pull his shirt away from his skin.

“Great,” Simon mutters. “Now I’m late, I’ll have to do laundry later, and I’ve got third-degree burns on my nipples.”

Alec huffs. “You’re a disaster, Lewis.”

He digs around in his desk drawer and produces a silk handkerchief in a bright shade of turquoise. Simon accepts it with a blank, confused stare.

“A _silk_ handkerchief? Who carries handkerchiefs around these days? Especially silk ones?” He glances down and squints at the square of fabric. A slow grin lights up his features and he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Especially silk handkerchiefs with the name _Magnus Bane_ embroidered on the corner?”

Magnus Bane is the boss of the company they work for. Simon’s only met him a few times; most of their interaction is passed through Bane’s assistant, Isabelle, who happens to be Alec’s sister. It makes sense that Alec and Magnus would know each other, but the flush that creeps up Alec’s neck is particularly telling and has Simon questioning exactly how _well_ they know each other. Alec makes a grab for the handkerchief, but Simon steps back out of the way and then lounges against the partition between their desks, placing his half-empty coffee cup down beside his computer.

“No, no, you gave this to me,” Simon says, dabbing ineffectually at the stain on his shirt. “And since you’re generally the kind of private, terrifyingly rigid person who never makes mistakes, I’m going to go ahead and assume that this was a cry for help, and that you actually _wanted_ to talk about this.”

“When have I ever wanted to talk about anything?” Alec grits out. Simon waves the handkerchief rather pointedly and then shrieks manfully when Alec lunges at him. He falls backwards on his ass and lands in his office chair, and Alec snatches the handkerchief away and quick-marches to the break room, presumably to get rid of the evidence. _Possibly_ to get away from Simon.

Simon sighs, lounging back in his chair, which creaks ominously. One day, the whole thing is going to snap beneath him and leave him sitting in a pile of splinters with a broken neck. When that day comes, Simon is going to play up his injury as much as possible, sue the company and retire to the Bahamas to live a sunny, care-free life. It’s a familiar fantasy, one he would indulge in if it weren’t for the mysterious package that he suddenly notices sitting on his desk, right next to his coffee. Simon drains the last of it, wincing as it burns his throat, and then drags the package towards him.

It’s a plastic container, like the kind they sell pastries in, and Simon lifts the lid and peers inside warily. He’s half-expecting a prank from Isabelle, but instead he finds brownies. A dozen chewy, chocolate squares of delicious brownies. Simon lifts one, examines it critically, and then takes a giant bite. It melts in his mouth and he moans, loudly enough for Alec to give him a dirty look as he comes back to his desk, suspiciously free of handkerchiefs. Simon would point it out, but he’s too busy ascending into heaven.

“Did you leave me these?” Simon asks, through a mouthful of food. Alec shoots him another dirty look and then glances down at the box of brownies. He tilts his head to the side thoughtfully and then reaches around the partition to flick the box shut.

“There’s a note on the top, genius.”

There’s a pink post-it note stuck to the top of the box. Simon leans down, mouth still full of delicious, chewy brownies, and reads it.

_Hope these are just as delicious as the cupcakes – Jace._

Simon spits out the brownie.

*

Cookies are next. Simon doesn’t really know what to do about the excess amount of baked goods that suddenly seem to find themselves sitting at his desk when he gets into work, but at least he knows who they’re from now. Jace. Jace, who’s never really had an interest in Simon before, who suddenly seems to be finding reasons to talk to him in the corridor, passing by his desk to make small talk and smirk at whatever personal disaster Simon happens to be going through. It’s not as if he’s complaining about the food, and he’s definitely not complaining about the attention, but he’s not overly sure how he’s supposed to reciprocate.

Simon is rooting around in his filing cabinet when Jace appears. He’s wearing a blue shirt that brings out his eyes and a long black tie. Simon’s tie is un-knotted, slung loosely over his shoulders, and he knows there’s a stain on the bottom of his shirt.

“Are you busy?” Jace asks.

Simon snorts. “Nobody in this place is ever busy. I spent a whole afternoon yesterday making paper airplanes to annoy Alec with.”

“I’ve never been able to make a paper airplane.”

“Oh, so you _do_ have flaws. I’ve gotta say, that’s a relief for us mere mortals.”

Jace holds out his hand, proffering a suspicious-looking brown paper bag.

Simon eyes it. “Is this a drug deal? Because my mom always told me to just say no, dude, and as much as I like you, I refuse to give in to peer pressure. I may not have abs of steel, but my brain is made of, like, adamantium, at least.”

“‘As much as you like me’, huh?”

Simon goes beet red and splutters for a bit, cursing his own mouth, which seems to be a running theme when it comes to him and Jace. Jace apparently takes pity on him and rolls his eyes, shaking the bag insistently. Simon peers cautiously inside and then bites his lip. Chocolate-chip cookies, still a little warm, golden brown and melt-in-your-mouth perfect.

“What did I do to deserve this?”

Jace’s face falls. “You don’t like them?”

“No! No, I do!” Simon yanks the bag out of Jace’s hands and watches in horror as it splits down the side. The rip is ominously loud in the silence. Cookies spill out onto the floor, and Jace only manages to catch one before stumbling into Simon, the momentum from Simon’s pull yanking him forward. Simon squeals as Jace collides with him, arms coming up to bracket his head as they both hit the filing cabinet.

Simon blinks up at him. There are a few strands of hair falling into Jace’s eyes, and Simon is seized with the urge to push them back, to run his fingers through his hair and maybe sigh against his mouth a bit. Jace’s mouth does that twitching thing again, and Simon lifts a hand unconsciously. He yanks it back as though burned when Jace’s eyes flicker down to his reaching fingers. He shifts uncomfortably, and there’s a crunching sound.

“I may have stepped on your cookies.”

“I caught one,” Jace says, drawing back to show Simon the mostly intact cookie sitting in his hand. “And I can make you more.”

“Why are you making me food?” Simon blurts out. “You keep leaving cakes and things on my desk, and it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, man, because I do, _believe_ me. I would happily live off your food for the rest of my life, but I don’t really get why you’re doing it. Are you trying to make me fat?”

Jace looks amused. “Why would I be trying to make you put on weight?”

“I don’t know! I’m floundering here.”

“I can see that,” Jace says, arching an eyebrow. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? You seemed to like those cupcakes, and it’s gratifying to have someone appreciate my work so vocally.” He smirks at Simon, who pulls a face back, and then startles as Jace pushes the cookie into his hands. “And Simon?”

Simon looks up.

“If you can’t work out why I’m really doing this, then you’re a lot less clever than I thought you were.”

*

Simon is constructing a necklace out of multi-coloured paperclips when Izzy swings by his desk. She’s wearing a pair of antenna’s with purple fuzzy hearts on the end, and she gives Simon’s necklace a disparaging look before dumping a stack of pink cards down on his desk.

“I need you to distribute these around the office for me,” Izzy says. “Magnus thought it would be a good idea, something about bringing everyone together, but secretly I think he’s just hoping Alec will write one to him. Did you know they were banging?”

Simon snorts softly and picks up one of the cards. “You have such a delicate way with words. No, I did not know that they were ‘banging’, as you put it, but I knew there was something going on there. Magnus comes by at least twice a week to drape himself over Alec’s desk and make him blush with lewd comments. It’s my only form of entertainment in this place.”

“So, essentially you knew, and you didn’t tell me,” Izzy says, pouting. She swats Simon over the head and then leans over the partition to look at Alec’s tidy, empty desk. “And where is my dear big brother?”

Simon glances at the clock. “It’s lunchtime, which means that Magnus is going to be coming out of his office at any minute, which means that Alec is going to be hovering beside the photocopier in the hopes of ‘accidentally’ bumping into him and starting up a conversation. It’s a thing he does. I think _he_ thinks that he’s being subtle.”

“Ah, that’s my Alec,” Izzy says fondly. “Awkward and hopeless when it comes to his crushes. And what about you, hmm? Is there anyone in your life I should know about? Anybody that you’ve got your eye on?”

Simon pauses, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on trying to clip the last paperclip together, and shoots Isabelle a suspicious look. “Why are you asking me that? You usually just come by and tell me to do something and swan off again. Who put you up to this?”

She adopts a hurt expression that Simon is ninety percent sure is false. He never can quite tell with Isabelle. “Why, Simon, I thought we were friends. Friends ask each other questions like that, you know, just to keep the conversation alive.”

“We’re friends?”

Izzy actually does look sympathetic this time. “Just because we don’t braid each other’s hair and paint each other’s nails doesn’t mean we aren’t friends. We’ve known each other for almost a year now. You can tell me things, you know.”

_Like the fact that I’m pining hopelessly over your adopted brother? No, thank you._

Simon coughs to clear his throat and gestures at his clean nails rather pointedly. “I, personally, would love to get my nails painted.” It beats answering awkward questions.

Isabelle narrows her eyes. “You’re not asking me out, are you?”

“No!” Simon waves his hands around wildly. “I wouldn’t dare. Besides, I know you’re gone on Clary, and she’s just as mad about you—”

Izzy’s eyes widen and Simon slaps a hand over his mouth. He wasn’t supposed to actually _say_ anything about Clary’s crush, which Clary had bemoaned to him a thousand times whilst drunk before falling asleep on his bedroom floor, but Isabelle looks so pleased that he has a feeling Clary might let him off for this, if things go as well as he thinks they’re going to go.

Izzy squeals in delight and jumps up and down on the spot, leaning over to grip his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “I’m definitely painting your nails after this, and we’re going to have a proper sleepover once Clary and I have our own, much more adult sleepover.” She winks, kisses Simon on the cheek, and then taps the stack of cards once before sashaying away. Simon thinks there’s a little bit more of a spring to her step, and he can’t help but smile. Izzy’s attitude, although often business-like and a little terrifying, is always infectious, and she has a passion for her job as Magnus’ assistant that Simon just can’t dredge up for his own work.

He sighs and focuses on the card in his hand. Some of them are pink and some of them are white, all with the same red hearts pasted around the border, and they all have the same black text printed on them, wishing them a happy Valentine’s Day. There’s a space at the bottom for people to write their own message, and Simon finds himself reaching for a pen almost absently. Something food-themed would be good, considering Jace seems to have a fondness for baking.

 _I’d like a slice of you._ He doodles a piece of toast beside the words and gives it a winky face.

He grabs another card, tapping the pen against his lip as he thinks. It’s not like Jace will know these are from him, after all, and there’s enough there that he can afford to steal a few.

_What did one pickle say to the other pickle? You mean a great dill to me!_

That one makes Simon snicker to himself

 _I’m a sucker for you._ He adds a picture of a lollipop and pictures Jace’s face with a grin.

“Aren’t you supposed to be handing those out?”

Simon jerks so hard that his little stack of cards fly everywhere, fluttering onto his lap and down onto the floor. Jace stoops and picks several of them up, arching his eyebrow at Simon’s doodles. He hands them back as Simon scrambles to collect them all before Jace can see them, but it’s too late.

“Are these for Clary?”

Simon pulls a face without thinking about it, and Jace laughs quietly. Maybe once, Simon might have had a crush on Clary, but that’s all in the past now. They make much better friends than they would have made partners, and Simon wouldn’t give that up for anything.

 “I’ll take that as a no, then. If you’re thinking of giving these to Isabelle, I’d think again. I’m pretty sure she has a thing for Clary herself. And when I say that I’m pretty sure, I mean I know for definite.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “What did you see?”

Jace grimaces. “Nothing I wanted to, believe me. She’s my baby sister. Just steer clear of that little copying room beside Bane’s office, that’s all I’m saying.”

Simon fist-pumps the air and does a little celebratory jiggle in his chair, which Jace seems to appreciate, if his half-amused, half-exasperated expression is anything to go by. They finish collecting the cards together and Simon gets up to start divvying them out among his co-workers when Jace presses a brown paper bag into his hands. Simon moves to open it immediately, and Jace snatches it back with a smirk.

“There are more cookies in here, but you can only have them if you tell me who you were writing love notes for.”

“They weren’t love notes,” Simon says indignantly. “They were love _puns_. There’s a huge difference. One is infinitely more classy than the other.”

“Love puns, then,” Jace concedes. He shakes the bag tauntingly, and Simon scowls at him. If it were anyone else, Simon would probably flip him off and leave, but he can still remember the taste of that one, slightly-crushed cookie that Jace had saved in the filing room, and it’s definitely worth the embarrassment he’s about to face.

“If you _must_ know, they were for you,” Simon says, his heart flipping over in his chest when Jace looks up at him sharply. “As a thank you, you know, for all the food you keep baking me.”

“Just a thank you?” Jace murmurs, stepping closer, and Simon melts a little. “Or something else.”

Simon licks his lips. He’s definitely not thinking about cookies anymore. “Possibly something else. Possibly.”

“Get a room,” Alec says, popping up over the partition to glare at them.

“Nice hickey,” Jace says, without looking away from Simon. Alec slaps a hand over his neck with a mortified squawk and disappears again. Simon snorts and vows to stop throwing paper airplanes at Alec for the next few days, out of gratitude.

“You know, when I pictured this happening,” Simon begins, his breath catching as Jace backs him into the cubicle, “there was a lot more humiliation and a lot less cosying up to each other.”

“Are you complaining?”

“Definitely not complaining,” Simon breathes against Jace’s mouth.

The cookies sit, forgotten, on the desk.

**Author's Note:**

> Man that was Not Good but it's all I got. Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed it! Come see me @thealmostrhetoricalquestion to yell about jimon if you like, and thank you so much for reading! You're all wonderful!


End file.
